


Frankie Says Relax; Help Has Arrived

by jackycomelately



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Community: no_tags, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-08
Updated: 2012-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-31 05:05:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackycomelately/pseuds/jackycomelately
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Warnings: </b> violence, swearing<br/>Written for no_tags prompt #20. Brendon/Frank—sci-fi action adventure<br/>Frank thinks being a Jedi is the best thing ever. Brendon comes to agree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frankie Says Relax; Help Has Arrived

**Author's Note:**

> Sincere thanks to my wonderful beta rusty_armour. I'd hate to have to do this without you. Also to my still anon prompter. Awesome dude!

Frank loves being a Jedi warrior. Seriously, what could be better than having a light saber? He can also move things with his mind. That’s pretty cool. Okay, he mostly uses it when he’s too lazy to walk the two feet to get the remote. It’s also awesome for playing catch with the dogs. Some day, he was totally going to take them for a walk using his brain. He was dying to see the looks on people’s faces as the dogs trotted along with floating leashes.

It was kind of lonely, though. Don’t get him wrong. There were some rad fellow—was there a feminine form of fellow because Vicky was awesome—Jedi warriors. They were just a little serious. He really didn’t think being one with the universe required a total lack of humor. The universe was funny as hell after all.

It was just a normal day. He had swung by and levitated the car of one of the douches that used to throw him in his school locker (you were never too old for revenge), when he saw him a block or two later. The douche in question. Along with several douche-like friends. It looked like they had graduated from lockers. They were kicking the hell out of some poor schmuck (which totally means penis—Yiddish is _awesome_ ) in the alley behind Frank’s favorite vegan deli. Hey, revenge always makes him hungry.

Frank got on that like stink on shit. He flung douche primary into a convenient wall. He knocked the heads of douches secondary and tertiary (he liked classification, okay?) together à la the three stooges. Fucking hilarious. Douches quaternary and quinary ran like their asses were on fire. Fuck, he hadn’t even gotten to pull out his light saber. Just as well, though. Poor penis wasn’t looking too good. 

***

Brendon was having a seriously shitty day. He got fired. He got evicted. He got dumped. The trifecta of shittiness, in fact. The three were linked, obviously. Yes, he had been sharing an apartment with his boyfriend. Yes, he had been living with his boss. All he could say was that it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Brendon always felt like he was running frantically after the rest of the world, trying to catch up. This was not even the first time he had lost his place, his boyfriend, and his job all in one go. Though, it had been summer the last time. He rubbed his cold hands together and tucked them under his favorite Dora the Explorer sweatshirt.

Piling on Bradly Funkie, however, was a bit much even for a born victim. Funkie or “Funk” as he liked to be called had made it his mission to make Brendon’s life hell in high school. Mission achieved. Brendon was calling foul on him doing it as an adult, though. He might be homeless; he might be jobless; he might not know where his next blow job was coming from, but up with this he would not put.

Five minutes and the three kicks to the gut later, he was thinking that he shouldn’t have worried about the state of his life. There was going to be nothing left of him but a stain. He was going to die lying on this piece of dirty concrete. All his life, he had told himself things would get better; he was starting to lose faith.

When Bradly Funkie’s foot stopped an inch from his face, and Funkie went flying into a wall, he began to revise his position.

A tiny (even smaller than him!) guy with a baby face and an awesome neck tattoo was flinging his attackers right and left. Oh my God, that was a light saber hanging from his obviously vegan belt. Had Brendon been slightly less nauseous, he would have cheered.

“Dude, don't move. You could have internal injuries and shit. Let me check you out first.”

Goddamn, the kid was a mess. His nose was obviously broken. Frank focused on his body as a whole, letting the Force guide him to what was out of whack. Definitely internal injuries. Jesus Christ, he should have beat those douches until they rang like bells. He had been planning to give the guy the choice to be healed or go to the hospital, but he thought the dude might not survive the trip. There wouldn’t be documented evidence of injury, but Frank was totally willing to testify in court to the damages. The court took the word of Jedi warriors very seriously, which always cracked Frank up. He knew what a total dipshit he was.

“Okay, man. What's your name?” Penis was a lot less funny up close. Well, not really, but Frank had been raised to have respect.

“Brendon. I don't feel so good.”

No _shit_ , thought Frank. “Okay, Brendon, you know what I am, right?”

“Jedi. That’s really cool. Can I see your light saber?”

“Absolutely.” Frank loved showing people his light saber—in all meanings of the word. “Because I'm a Jedi, I can fix you right up. As long as you're okay with that?”

“Sure.”

It was a weak shaky whisper. Frank thought about how much this would have sucked if it had happened before he came into his powers. Being a superhero rocked.

It took concentration, though. He took Brendon’s scraped up hand. It was cold as ice. He tried to rub some warmth into it and focused. He sent muscles and bone and blood back to where they wanted to be. He sent healing energy to each damaged part. He wasn’t a doctor; he didn’t really know what he was fixing. Luckily, he didn’t need to. The body knew. It took a while, but, finally, he released Brendon’s warm hand and stood up.

“Whoa…head rush.”

Brendon looked at him in wonder. “Thank you.”

Frank just smiled at him.

It was a good day to be a superhero. 

***

The awkward thing about Brendon is that, goddamn it, he refused to _stay_ saved. You should be able to put a check next to someone's name and, hey, done!

Of course, he didn't very often stick around after. For all he knew, _none_ of the people he saved stayed that way. He should look into that. He wondered if there were stats, like, generally. He could compare. He bet Brendon would bring his down. Or, if he counted each as a separate save, Brendon might bring them up.

This was the third time Frank had saved Brendon’s curvy little ass this week. And it was only Tuesday! It was a good thing he had left a tracer on the kid linked to fear or pain. One armed robbery, one fall down six flights of stairs, and now… He slung his arm around Brendon’s hunched shoulders:

“Dude, what’s the problem? If you just want to see me, we can arrange a play date. Seriously, having hands is important. I ain’t scratching your ass, if they fall off. Quit it with the car doors already.” He would totally scratch Brendon’s ass for him.

Brendon looked at him apologetically. “It’s not deliberate, I swear. I’ve always been accident prone. The house mother at the orphanage said I rolled off the delivery table.”

“Dude, you’re an orphan? That sucks! I’ll introduce you to my mother. She makes the best vegan lasagna.” Plus, Frank could totally use the help keeping Brendon alive. She’d smack him into shape. Frank led him away to his doom.


End file.
